The Thought Must Count
by seven dragons
Summary: While caring for an ailing Dr. Thomas Blake, Jean considers her future. Things seem certain for her until a stranger shows up on her doorstep and upends her plans.
1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet afternoon, and Jean sat down with a cup of tea. Dr. Blake was resting. He had been having an uncomfortable day and had barely left his room. Those days were becoming more common of late. Jean had not given much thought to her future but she was beginning to realize the inevitable. Dr. Blake would not be here for long and neither would she. Dr. Blake had been the center of her life for the last ten years. What came after this? Her thoughts were disrupted by a knock at the door. She opened it to find a man of about fifty in a gray suit and navy blue fedora with a close cropped beard. He was holding a suitcase. The man stood there, expectantly, as if he were waiting for something to happen.

"May I help you?"

"How do you do. I'm Lucien Blake."

"Are you a relative?"

Jean wondered how these people always came out of the woodwork when they smelled an inheritance.

"In a manner of speaking. I'm Dr. Blake's son."

Jean felt a flush of embarrassment. Dr. Blake spoke of his son so little, she had forgotten he existed.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't recognize you."

"I don't see how you would."

They stood there in silence for a moment, Jean considering the stranger and unsure of what to do.

"Uh, may I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!"

Jean ushered him in and offered him some tea, which he gladly accepted. Jean made polite conversation and tried not to be too transparent as she examined him. She was rather curious about this lost son. She wasn't even sure how he found out his father was ill.

"I received a letter in Hong Kong," Lucien said suddenly, as if reading Jean's mind.

"Is that where you live?"

He nodded, and continued. "Dad told me he was ill. He asked me to come to Ballarat to see after a few things."

"What things?"

"The surgery mostly."

Jean was taken aback. She had done everything but prescribe medicine in Dr. Blake's place the last few months until he finally had to stop seeing patients. The doctor had never mentioned plans to get the son involved.

"Right. Well we have been getting on very well here for the most part. I'm not sure we need any help."

"I'm sure you don't. But that's what dad asked for."

Jean was about to reply when he changed the subject.

"Where is my father? I'd like to see him."

"He's sleeping right now."

"I'd like to see him anyway if that's alright."

Jean glared at him. Son or not she was not about to let a stranger disturb the doctor.

"You can see him when he wakes up. If you'd like I can fix up a spare room for you and..."

Lucien stood up and cut her off.

"Is his room still the one just down the hall?"

"Yes but..."

Before Jean could protest, Lucien had turned his back on her and was heading down the hall to wake up his father.

* * *

 _Two weeks later_

Jean answered the door and was pleased to see Chief Superintendent Lawson standing there. She always liked the Superintendent, he was a great improvement over his predecessor. She wished he had occasion to visit more often.

"Matthew! Come in."

She ushered her into the kitchen and set about making tea.

"I'm afraid Dr. Blake is sleeping, he won't be up for some time."

"How is he?"

Jean stared down at her tea cup. "Not good, really. He's starting to decline. I have spoken to the hospital to arrange for a nurse to start visiting the house."

Matthew sighed heavily. "I see. I am sorry to hear it. Thomas is a good man."

"Yes." Jean paused, lost in thought. "You really aught to see him while you are here, even if you have to wake him up. He'll want to see you."

Matthew looked over his shoulder. "Where's junior?"

Jean shrugged. "Who knows? He's out more than he's in." Jean leaned forward and lowered her voice, "And when he's in he spends most of his time either drinking the doctor's whiskey, making a mess, or writing letters to China."

"China?"

Jean nodded. "The whole thing is very odd. I'll be glad when he is on his way home."

"So you don't think much of him then."

"Well," Jean paused, "He is the doctor's son, and he is very intelligent, at least he seems to be. But he's so unreliable. I doubt he'll make a go of it in Ballarat."

"That's a pity. I was hoping to ask him to step in for his father as police surgeon, at least temporarily."

Jean removed the tea cups from the table, throwing Matthew an arch look over her shoulder. "I think you'll regret it, but if it gets him out of my house, I think it's a great idea. Ah! Here he is now."

Matthew turned in response to the sound of the door opening as Jean called from the kitchen.

"Lucien! There's someone I would like you to meet."

* * *

 _Four weeks later_

Jean sat down on the edge of her bed, too tired even to get undressed. She had just buried Dr. Blake. She was too numb to cry, but she was painfully aware of what she was losing. She looked around the room and wondered if she would be here tomorrow, or the next day. The doctor's son would certainly be selling the house and returning home, and Jean would not be needed. Her best course of action would be to start looking for work right away and move before he had to ask her to leave, but tonight Jean was too exhausted to think about it.

Dr. Blake was a giant in the community and she had been proud to work for him. It had been difficult going at first. Blake was an exacting man and as a farm wife and mother Jean was used to a somewhat unpredictable daily schedule. Meeting his needs had seemed like an insurmountable challenge in the beginning. Yet no matter how often he judged her to be in error he never dismissed her nor did he even threaten to, and they both pressed on. Jean had always considered herself a women of high standards and she could appreciate the same in others. He had been strict but fair. Her family was welcome to visit if not permitted overnight, he wasn't running a boarding house after all. When she wasn't minding the house or surgery her free time was her own. She would not call them friends, but she held him in great esteem. As he got older and became ill, he spoke to Jean much more. Isolated from his friends and with no family to speak of, he turned to Jean for companionship. Jean was happy to oblige, it was the least she could do. Jean was well too aware that scratching out a living from domestic work could be difficult and she had gotten lucky. She had lived comfortably under Dr. Blake and felt privileged to do so.

Jean went down the hallway to get herself some Bex, suddenly aware of the headache that had been growing all evening. From the bottom of the stairway she could see the light to Dr. Blake's office. She heard the sound of a drawer opening. Lucien was settling in for a night of drinking. She would not begrudge him this on the day of his father's funeral, except that this was much the same as it was every night, and she expected it would be every night after. Jean recalled watching him, sitting apart in the front pew this morning. His face impassive, he looked out of place at his own father's funeral. Lucien appeared to share none of the personality traits of his father, in fact they were different in every way. Lucien - Jean made a point of calling him Lucien, Dr. Blake was an honorific he had not earned in her estimation - was disorganized, impulsive, easily irritated, and drank too much. Jean had been annoyed and more than a little hurt that Dr. Blake had never confided his plans to ask his son to take over the surgery. If so, Jean could at least have planned accordingly, whether it was to help transfer the surgery to Blake, dismantle the business, or just find a new job and clear out. As Lucien was clearly not suited to this life she assumed it would be one of the last two options.

Even in the weeks that the two men shared a house together they spoke little. As he lay dying Lucien did not seem more concerned than was dictated by good etiquette. Jean felt that she had started to understand over the last few weeks why Dr. Blake had spoken so little of him. Who would want to make the acquaintance of such a man? Jean swallowed the tablets and went back to her room. She lay down, staring up at the ceiling, and sighed heavily. Perhaps she was being unfair to a man who had just lost his father. For all Lucien's failings he seemed kind in a way his father never was. He had been in the house a matter of days before he sat down with Jean over tea and asked her about her life and her family. In ten years Dr. Blake had never bothered. His intellect easily rivaled his father and possibly would exceed it if he had a more disciplined mind. He had taken on a few patients on an emergency basis in place of his father and he showed compassion towards them. Even in these dark days he showed glimpses of humor. Jean wondered if he has been a happy man once.

The sound of breaking glass pierced her pained temple, followed by the even less pleasant sound of Lucien cursing. Jean sighed and hurried downstairs. Lost father or not, she had had enough of this nonsense. Tonight of all nights she was going to demand some peace. She rounded the door to the study to find Lucien standing among the the ruins of a shattered glass of whiskey, a pile of patient files in one hand. He looked up at Jean and for a moment looked forlorn and utterly lost, like a small child searching for his parents. Jean thought that perhaps he was. He recovered quickly and just looked embarrassed.

"Jean I am so sorry I woke you."

"I was up. I'll clean up."

"No I'll do it, I made the mess. It's just," Lucien sighed and the hopeless look briefly crossed his face again, "if you could tell me where the broom is."

Jean's eyes surveyed the files in his hand and on his desk. "What were you looking for?"

"Mrs. Simon's file. For tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?" Mrs. Simon was one of Dr. Blake's more elderly patients and she had been seeing him for over thirty years.

"Yes, she approached me after the funeral in a panic over how she was going get her medication refilled. I promised I would see her tomorrow."

"She asked you for an appointment at your own father's funeral?"

That came out harsher than she intended, and Lucien just stood there, seemingly helpless. For the first time she felt sympathy for the situation he had been put in. Jean wrinkled her brow.

"Give me those."

In seconds Jean had pulled out the correct file and set the rest aside on his desk.

"You go over this. I'll get the broom and a towel."

Lucien gave her a grateful look and sat down at his desk. "Thank you, Jean."

A short while later Jean was relieved to be back in her room and getting ready for bed, but the scene downstairs weighed on her conscience. It would not benefit her to stay in Dr. Blake's house facing an uncertain future. At the same time, it was clear that Lucien was going to need help if he was going to fill in the gap with Dr. Blake's patients until a more permanent arrangement was found. The least she could do for Dr. Blake was to not leave his son floundering hopelessly around the surgery. For now, Jean thought, she would stay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: For reference, see S1E4.**

* * *

Lucien Blake walked through his father's front door late one evening. His shirt was filthy, he had a split lip caked in dried blood, and he sported an impressive gash above his left eye. He went quietly, hoping to go unnoticed. No such luck. He could hear Jean hurrying down the stairs. She wheeled around the corner and stopped in her tracks. He really wished she would mind her own business and stop waiting up for him. At least she was dressed and not in that dreadful pink robe she seemed to constantly wear around the house. She looked him up and down quickly.

"What on earth happened to you?"

"Bill Hobart."

Jean looked incredulous. "Bill Hobart attacked you?"

"Sucker punched me when I wasn't looking. But I got the better of him in the end."

He spent the next five minutes arguing with her in the hallway, trying to convince Jean not to go over to the police station in the morning and give Hobart a piece of her mind. For the life of him Lucien could not figure out why Jean had decided this was her fight.

"Were you drinking?"

"No, but if you don't mind I've had a long day and I'd like to start."

Jean looked him over again and huffed. "Not yet you don't. Into the surgery, I want to have a look at those cuts."

Lucien bristled. "I'm a doctor Jean, I can take care of myself."

"Is that so? Show me your hands."

Lucien stretched out his hands in front of her. His knuckles were swollen and covered in dried blood.

"Now make a fist."

Lucien tried to ball his hands into fists. His right would only close half way. Jean raised an eyebrow.

"That's great. I'm sure as a doctor you didn't need use of your hands anyway. Now go."

Lucien dropped his arms in resignation. He was not going to win this battle. At least he had won against Hobart. In truth, they had fought to a draw until, unable to get the upper hand, Hobart demanded that Lucien go down to the station to face charges of assaulting a police officer. But Hobart was the younger, fitter man, which was not lost on his peers. Lucien was let go and Hobart was left to face the music with the Superintendent while the whole police station found out that he had barely held his own against a soft old doctor.

Sitting on the edge of his desk, he tried not to wince as Jean cleaned off the blood and applied antiseptic. She lectured him the whole while about the mess he had made of his shirt, about his judgement, about how his father would have never got into a fight with a police officer in broad daylight.

"Oh? When would my father get into a fight with a police officer?"

Jean opened her mouth to respond but just glared at him and continued her work. He was getting fed up with her constant comparisons to his father. The man never cared whether Lucien was alive or dead and for some reason Jean held him up on a pedestal. An icon of the community who all but abandoned his son, tolerated police brutality, palled around with corrupt business men, and yet somehow Lucien was the one who was constantly found wanting.

His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sensation. With one hand lightly on his chin Jean had steadied Lucien's head while her free hand was running slowly through his hair. Lucien involuntarily closed his eyes and sighed, dropping his head slightly. It had been so long since he'd felt a woman's touch, not like this anyway, and it was impossible not to respond. A distant thought in the back of his mind told him something was out of place. Their relationship up until this point had been restricted to Lucien being henpecked about being late for dinner and being told how he didn't measure up to his father. He had trouble believing a woman like Jean Beazely would come on so strong. Yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away. He was painfully aware how close she was to him, and was having trouble remembering what they were doing in his surgery in the first place. A glancing blow to the side of the head brought him violently out of his reverie. Two more across the top of his head followed.

"Ow!"

"Your hair is full of gravel. I don't know how you managed that."

"Ask Bill Hobart."

"I still have a mind to. And I have a mind to take you outside and go over your head with the carpet beater."

"That won't be necessary. I'll brush my hair out before bed."

"Right."

Jean stepped back and surveyed her work. "Well I think I've done all I can here. I want to have another look at that hand in the morning."

"You seem to keep forgetting I'm a doctor."

Jean looked unimpressed. "Oh? And here I thought you were a boxer."

Without another word, Jean started cleaning up the medical supplies and collected up his dusty jacket and waist coat. It was well past her bed time and she still moved with a brisk efficiency, the same as she put into every task. It was not lost on Lucien that in her own harsh way, in her fussing, and waiting up, on her ridiculous insistence on looking after him and picking fights with police sergeants on his behalf, Jean had shown more concern for him than anyone had in years.

"Thank you, Jean."

Jean looked up from clearing the last of the gauze and smiled softly.

"Good night, Lucien."

And with that, she was gone. Lucien sat down at his desk, happy to finally be alone. It had been a dreadful day. He pulled a bottle out of his desk drawer and poured himself a large whiskey. In a way he was grateful to Hobart. When Bill hit him it gave Lucien an excuse to fight someone and let vent the rage that had been growing inside of him since he came back to town. He had some semblance of a life in Hong Kong. He had his government work, plus a small medical practice which provided cover for what he did. He traveled in his duties enough to keep from getting bored and he could look for his family in his spare time. Now it had become infinitely harder to maintain his contacts in Asia and he resented it. He felt like his family was slipping away. He wondered why he stayed, it certainly wasn't out of loyalty to his father. He felt so alienated in Ballarat, a stranger in a strange land, and everyone faulted him for not calling the strange land home. He was surrounded by people who were foreign to him, even the ones he once knew, and he felt trapped.

Lucien poured himself another drink, having nearly swallowed the first one whole. He knew that alcohol was not helpful for the healing of wounds. It thinned the blood. If Jean saw him now that would certainly be the first thing she'd say. His mind wandered back to that moment when he was sitting on his desk and felt her fingers in his hair and he shivered involuntarily. He felt foolish for letting his imagination run wild like that. She was merely checking for more injuries and he assumed the unthinkable. He found now his conscience bothered him over the question of why, briefly misreading her intentions, he let her proceed. And more worrisome, what would have happened if he had been correct? He was a married man. He decides to put these thoughts out of his mind. He was still punchy from the fight and days of little sleep. He was reading too much into nothing. He really needed to go to bed.

Lucien poured another drink instead. He didn't want to go to bed, not here. It was time to pick up his life and return to Hong Kong, the only semblance of home he could think of. His job would be waiting for him any time he wanted it and he didn't belong here. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps upstairs. He could just make out hushed voices followed by a soft low peel of laughter. Lucien closed his eyes and listened, but it was gone as quickly as it started. No doubt a chance encounter between Jean and their lodger Mattie in the upstairs hallway. He looked around his office, settling back into the chair that was not his own yet seemed to fit him so well. He couldn't deny that while his life in Hong Kong had purpose, Ballarat was a lot less solitary. His father's house still had life in it, and that was comforting. Lucien drained the last of his glass. A little wobbly now, he headed to his bedroom to peel off his filthy clothes. Whatever decision he made about the future, it could wait until morning.


End file.
